


Through the Window

by megamazing



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Awesome Clint Barton, Clint Barton Is a Good Bro, Clint and Tony are Bros, Dual POV, Fluff, Fluff without Plot, Humor, LITERALLY, M/M, Protective Steve Rogers, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, a witch cursed me and whoops i need contact to live, but clint is a big part and the phlint is real, i love how many tags there are for clint, need for contact trope, the main meat is tony's story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-25
Updated: 2018-02-25
Packaged: 2019-03-23 21:07:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13796376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megamazing/pseuds/megamazing
Summary: Clint’s plans get turned upside down twice in one day, Tony is having a completely rational freak-out, but Steve would just like to get a word or two out, that's all.Or, the story where a witch screws with Tony, Tony makes a surprise visit to Bed-Stuy, Clint is a good bro who deserves compensation, and there is no plot at all. It’s all crack, fluff, and jokes around here.





	Through the Window

**Author's Note:**

> At this point, it's clear I really can't write a Stony story without Phlint. I just love Clint so much guys, I can't help it.
> 
> This is something that came out after the pile of wips I have threatened to suffocate me, so here you go! A short, fluffy fic that has nothing to do with anything else I'm writing.
> 
> (I’m so sorry to anyone waiting on updates to other stories. I would love for them to be posted, too, trust me. Have this crack fic based on a prompt I got in a bingo that I also never finished <3)

“Uh. So, this is new.” Clint had taken half a step into his apartment with his arms full of grocery bags, to find Tony tucked up into the corner of his couch, Lucky’s head on his lap. “Don’t you hate dogs? I distinctly remember you telling me to _keep that flee ridden monstrosity out of my tower_. That’s the same monstrosity gunking up your fancy pants right now, you know.”

Tony mumbled something, continuing to scratch behind Lucky’s good ear. He hadn’t taken one look at Clint yet, and his cheeks were red in a way that probably wasn’t sunburn. Clint grunted back an affirmation and decided to roll with it.

And if he made sure to tuck the half bottle of cheap liquor behind the bag of flour as he shoved groceries into the cabinets, then that was just a precaution. He tried to do a mental check and remember how much had been in the bottle the last time he felt sorry for himself, but that had been weeks ago, right after seeing Phil in person, alive, and so he’d felt _really_ sorry for himself that night. Damnit. It didn’t _look_ like bottles did around Tony on a bender, so.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Tony snapped at him.

Clint snorted and pulled out the leftover pizza box from the fridge. “You’ve got a dog on your lap and you’re sitting on my couch in a suit that costs more than a year’s rent here – I’m thinking it’s five minutes till Dog Cops comes on.” 

Tony didn’t immediately swipe a slice when Clint tossed the box on the coffee table, and if nothing else had tripped a red flag, that sure did. Clint slumped down on the other side of the couch and decided to take the nonchalant approach to whatever this was.

“I haven't been drinking,” Tony insisted.

“Nope, but you should be eating. Pretty sure this stuff is on its last legs, gotta use it before it goes to waste,” he said around a mouthful. “Still the food of the god’s though.”

A choked-off huffing sound came out of Tony, like he’d tried to stop himself from laughing. Or he was dying. Clint did his best not to frown, and stuffed more pizza into his face as a fail-safe. None of them did well when it came to facing anything remotely resembling pity, but Tony was easily the worst of them. Something told Clint it would be a smart move to not put Tony on the defensive tonight.

Lucky whined longingly at the pizza box, and Tony looked back and forth between the box and the dog with a pained pinch around his eyes.

Clint heaved an exaggerated sigh and leaned over to snag two slices for Lucky and Tony.

It couldn’t have been more than a slight brush of fingers in the hand-off, less than a second of contact, but Tony jerked back so hard the pizza went flying, splattering sauce on the wall it smacked into and flopping in another wet splat on the ground. Clint looked to the pizza mess, then back at Tony.

“I’m going to take a shot in the dark and say this has something to do with the villain of the week,” Clint said dryly.

Tony did laugh then, but it sounded frayed, and frankly all of this was starting to worry the shit out of Clint. Tony’s hands went right back into Lucky’s fur, petting and soothing the dog, even though Lucky clearly didn’t care about anything but chomping on the mushball of food in his mouth.

“Yeah, well, guess it’s true that nothing gets past a Hawkeye.”

“What can I say?” Clint joked. Tony rolled his eyes, refusing to meet Clint’s. “Why come here, though? I can’t be the only person you know in New York. In fact, I can think of plenty of people that would probably be more qualified than me to figure out what’s going on with you right now. Some of them don’t even hate us.”

Tony scoffed. “Oh no, don’t worry, Strange was all over this shit.” Weirdly enough, it felt like there was more to that than Tony was letting on.

“Did he pop a woody over magic or something?” Clint prompted.

Tony sighed heavily, shifting around to lean his head on his hands, elbows braced on his knees. Lucky squirmed away to attack the floor pizza. Clint didn’t have the heart to scold him when he saw Tony’s hands clenching and unclenching over and over, shoulders tightening as he closed in on himself.

“Okay,” Clint conceded, “That was a stupid joke. So, it is something magic. What happened, Tony?”

Tony shook his head, and mumbled something that sounded like “weed contacts” but somehow Clint didn’t think that was right. He waited and finally, Tony flopped back against the couch, one arm flung over his eyes. “I need contact.”

Oh.

There were a dozen one-liners popping into Clint’s head in response to that, most of them dirty, but he kept them quiet for once. Tony saying things he didn’t mean was nothing new – throwing out a cute phrase to soften the blow, or take focus away from his real feelings was something the guy did all the time – this wasn’t that. And he was _here._ It wasn’t even a question of whether Clint should take him at his word. “Like a craving that makes your hands shake at just the thought of another person beside you?”

Tony’s arm shot down and he sat forward, his eyes snapping to Clint’s suspiciously. “Yes. With the added promise of intense physical pain if I resist or isolate, according to good ol’ Doctor Pissy Cape. How did you know to call it like that?”

Clint shrugged casually. “Sounds like sensory deprivation. Been through that before. Happens when you get ‘napped sometimes.”

Tony’s mouth popped open, and then his jaw clenched. “I ever told you I’m damn glad you aren’t on SHIELD’s payroll anymore?”

“Maybe.” The last thing Clint wanted was to relive those memories, so he redirected. “Did Strange say how long this is gonna last?”

Tony grumbled. “There was a lot of hand waving and lack of hard evidence. The whole, _the effects are different per the individual_ , bullshit. Could be anywhere from a day, to months. He thinks it’s _highly unlikely_ to be permanent, so whoopie.”

“Need a hug?”

“I will hit you, Barton. Right in the nose.”

“I’m not really kidding, you know. Just being an asshole about it.”

“Joy,” Tony said flatly. “I’m suffering and you get to be an asshole.”

“Hey, you knew the kind of person I was when you showed up here. I’m proud of you for picking the lock all on your own, by the way.”

“Fuck off.” Tony stuck out his tongue and looked almost alright for half a minute. Clint had been keeping watch from the moment he walked in, making a running list of all the little ticks and clenches Tony was trying to downplay. Even his skin looked sallow, and for a man who had an expensive skin care routine to rival Natasha’s, that said something. Tony hadn’t looked like this in a long while.

“I’m gonna put my hand on the back of your neck – real manly, no homo, I swear.” 

“Please,” Tony scoffed. “Don’t pretend you didn’t just go grocery shopping like an adult for the first time solely with Agent Phil-of-the-Dead in mind. You couldn’t play the no-homo card convincingly if you tried.” Tony may have been snarky, but Clint didn’t hear an objection, so he followed through.

Tony sighed deeply the moment Clint’s hand touched his skin, letting his arm resting against the back of Tony’s neck.

Apparently Clint had run out of self-restraint for the day, because he asked the one thing he knew he shouldn’t have: “Why aren’t you at the Tower where Steve could be doing this for you? You wouldn’t even have to ask, he’d take one look at your hang-dog expression and hug you into submission.”

Tony tensed and said nothing.

Clint couldn’t stop his eyes from blowing wide. “Oh, shit. He _did_?”

Tony groaned and fell forward with his arms on his knees again, and Clint rubbed at his neck in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. “I can’t go back,” Tony said resolutely.

“Come on, this is Steve you’re talking about _._ He’d forgive the man who robbed him blind and left him naked and unconscious in an alleyway.”

“That was disturbingly descriptive, Barton.”

“Not wrong though. Whatever happened, it couldn’t have been worse than that, so I’m pretty sure whatever you did was fine.”

“How much would you bet on that?”

“Fifty.”

“Done. I kissed him.”

“Aw, Tony, _no_.”

\----

EARLIER THAT DAY

“Iron Man, on your left!”

“Roger that, Captain, I’ve got the witch in my sights.” Tony banked left, shifting to face her mid-air. “Miss,” he addressed the woman clad in vibrant emerald, head-to-toe. “The citizens of Manhattan would like to lodge a formal complaint. Turns out they don’t want the sentient trees, after all.”

“Fool, this isn’t about the _trees_ ,” she screeched, waving her arms in a wide arc as wispy, gaseous substances soared above her. They were brightly colored, and Tony had seen the blue one bring trees to life so no, he wasn’t eager to get hit with any of it. He tried again to aim a repulsor at her as he dodged some of the pink, but it rebounded off an invisible barrier, utterly useless.

“Cap, tell me we’ve got a better plan than bobbing and weaving. My stuff isn’t getting though whatever shield she’s got.”

“Thor’s ETA is ten minutes, we have to hold the line until then. He’s the only magic user we have available right now.”

“Yeah, but we also have a Hulk. Brucie-Bear, you feeling up to jumping in anytime soon?”

“Doctor Strange thinks her hood may be an artefact,” Bruce said quickly.

Tony groaned. “You brought _him_ in on this?”

“Good work Bruce,” Steve said, ignoring Tony’s protest. “Did he give us any info on how to get it away from her?”

“Short of getting close…”

“Close? I can do close,” Tony said. “JARVIS, get power to the backup filtration, I’d like to get out of this with my lungs intact.”

“Iron Man, do not engage,” Steve ordered. “I repeat, do not touch down.”

“Between the two of us Cap, who has a better chance at filtering whatever she’s pumping out? My vote is on the guy with the suit of armor with the state-of-the-art filtration system built in.”

“Trees can’t breathe air! We don’t know for certain that that’s how the magic works,” Steve argued. Tony could hear Steve’s breaths coming out harder between words, which meant he was running, which meant he was trying to stall Tony and get to the witch first. And they all said _Tony_ had a martyr complex. “We can’t know that your filtration tech can stand up against it.”

There were multiple bystanders unconscious in the street, people screaming, running from the trees chasing them down the streets, and who knows what the hell the other substances did. Nothing good.

And Steve was presumably running right into the heart of the beast, on a Hail-Mary pass at the witch’s hood.

The decision made itself, really.

"I'd like to introduce you to the Scientific Method, Steve. It's time to test out my hypothesis."

He shot downward, pushing the repulsors to their limits, expecting to slam helmet first into the barrier but he didn’t. The witch let out a battle cry, and Tony had just enough time to see her thrust her arms out toward him before his vision was barred by a mass of colored smoke. He felt the collision, the body in his hands, and he gripped fabric with all he had.

The crash to the ground slammed his head into concrete, and he did his best to protect the person between his arms, taking the brunt of the impact, but suddenly the weight was off his chest, and the smoke vanished. He coughed, the wind knocked out of him, and saw the emerald hood still gripped in the gauntelts.

Tony laughed and whooped. “That’s how you take down a target! Widow should take notes, eh, Captain?”

“Tony?! Tony? Are you alright?” Bruce’s frantic voice patched in through the comm, full of static interference.

“Woah, yeah, all here. Calm down Brucie,”

“ _Don’t_ start on me with the calm down stuff, Tony, _Jesus_ ,” Bruce said, breathing in and out in measured increments, then he disconnected the call.

“JARVIS, keep an eye on the good doctor, will you? Let us know if he goes a little too green.”

“Of course. You were offline for ten minutes, sir. Power is restricted to necessary life support only.”

“Ten minutes? Run a diagnostic, have the footage ready for me at my lab,” Tony ordered. It had felt like seconds, less than that, but he didn’t have time to stand before there was another static interference sound and then more screeching in his ear.

“Tony! Respond,” Steve was demanding. Loudly.

Tony made sure his groan was loud enough to get picked up. “Codenames, Cap, how many times do we have to go over this? Hill will have another episode and we’ll all be locked in the—”

“Iron Man, can it.”

“Very punny, Captain, I’m impressed.”

Like clockwork, Steve came running into view, shield at his side. Tony didn’t even feel bad for the dopey grin he could feel on his face. He could claim head injury privileges. Probably.

“Iron Man,” Steve said flatly, but the scathing tone he was trying to put on was bellied by the wide fear in his eyes. Shit. Tony hated when Steve’s face got like that. It made Tony spew random bullshit at a rapid fire and do stupid things like try to offer comfort. Which he should never do, case in point: Pepper. “Bring the faceplate down.”

“Yes, dear,” Tony responded automatically, feeling the crisp bite of a November afternoon in the middle of Manhattan hit his face without mercy. “Ugh, air.” He blinked, trying to move his face enough to mediate the discomfort, or something. Or maybe he was dazed. Go figure.

Steve crouched down, his brow pinching, fear morphing into concern so quickly it was reasonable that Tony took another second to blink again and ignore the sudden drive to reach out and smooth the wrinkle away. Ha. He might be concussed, after all.

“Tony, did you hear me?”

Oh, was Steve talking? “Yes, absolutely. I’m fine, just very comfortable lying here in the rubble. You should try it sometime, might be good for sore muscles.”

Steve reached out and before Tony could push his hand aside, he swiped a thumb across Tony’s forehead, and whatever words were coming out of his mouth were completely lost on Tony, as a wave of _elation_ ran from that spot on his head throughout every extremity on his body, just to be ripped away the second Steve pulled back.

“No,” Tony blurted, before he could stop himself.

“Tony, you’re bleeding,” Steve said, with a tone that made it obvious it wasn’t the first time he’d said it and yeah, there was blood on the hand he’d touched Tony with. But it felt distant, far away, like he was being pulled down a tunnel with Steve stuck on the other side. “You’ve paled since I’ve been here. JARVIS, where else is he bleeding?”

“Nowhere, Captain. But his heartrate is approaching dangerous levels, and his breathing has shallowed considerably in the last five minutes.”

“Traitor,” Tony accused his AI, and then coughed to cover an uncontrollable whimper as Steve stood. Tony’s brain was running at a mile a minute, cataloguing his symptoms and coming up blank. Concussions weren’t like this. Drugs? Sure, maybe. But he’d been clean for years now, and hadn’t touched alcohol in the past eighteen months, two days, and eleven – no, twelve – hours. “JARVIS give me arc reactor readings.”

“The arc reactor? Tony, you’re not fine, tell me what’s going on. I’m calling SHIELD.”

“No you are not, Rogers, don’t you dare.”

“Nothing out of normal function parameters, sir,” JARVIS interrupted.

“See? Fit as a fiddle.”

As he said that, Steve bent over to get in a position to lever Tony into a standing position, making a wave of nausea roll through Tony’s stomach. Not that he’d be informing Captain Worry Pants anytime soon. But the weirder thing, and there were quite a lot of weird shit going on today, but the weirder was that Tony could almost feel where his hands were gripping the suit, and it was the _almost_ that physically hurt, that drained him in a way that would only be natural if Tony was Superman and Steve was Kryptonite. If this was a comic book, and Tony wasn’t currently leaning on Steve in the middle of a rubble-strewn street.

“Woah there,” Steve cautioned, putting a hand to the middle of Tony’s chest to steady him. “Tony, talk to me. You love to talk, huh?”

Tony was vaguely aware of JARVIS dialing SHIELD on Steve’s order – and really, what the hell had Tony been thinking, giving Steve command permissions over his AI? It was never going to end well for Tony, clearly. “I love to talk? Says you. Says the guy that ran over here for a chat when I’m perfectly capable of having JARVIS take control of the suit to fly me back where I can sleep for a week.” And run a million diagnostics on himself because Steve was alluring, sure – Tony had a deeply concealed, very much unrequited love thing going on with Steve for years at this point – but when Steve had touched him Tony felt _alive_ , and now it felt like he was dying. Like something vital had been taken when Steve pulled away his hand, and that was…not normal. To say the very fucking least.

“I ran over because you took on a magic user without backup, and you were out of communication for ten minutes. Bruce was about to go green, we thought…Tony, look at me.” Tony had started to list again, and was fighting to keep his eyes open. It hurt. And it hurt worse because Tony had a decent idea what would make it better, and wasn’t that hilarious?

“Steve, unlatch my gauntlet. The right one.” The one not currently slung over Steve’s shoulders.

Steve did it immediately, asking no questions, and Tony purposefully ignored that detail, because there was only so much he could handle while dying, thanks. “Okay, what now? SHIELD is five minutes out.”

Tony made a disgusted sound in his throat, but motioned for Steve to drop the gauntlet, and then took his hand when he did. The second he had skin on skin, Tony could breathe again. He sucked in air, and sighed, relieved to feel his chest open freely, feel his skin stop constricting in on itself. “Not to be weird, but if you could just keep holing my hand until they bring the good drugs, then that would be great.”

“Whatever you need Tony,” Steve said, his voice sounding off enough that Tony had to look him in the eye to gauge the awkwardness factor. But Steve didn’t look uncomfortable. He looked resolute, like he always did in the full red, white, and blue, but there was a tenderness to his look that popped up every now and then that took Tony’s breath away for far more dangerous reasons than bat shit crazy witches. Steve's Adam’s Apple bobbed in his throat, and then again when Tony’s eyes dropped to follow it.

“Sir, your heart rate has stabilized, and your breathing regulated back to expected intervals,” JARVIS informed them.

Steve’s face brightened. “That’s good news. Think it’s the standing?”

Standing. Totally. But Tony didn’t say that, instead shaking his head. He’d gotten into this habit of hating it when he lied to Steve, and so he’d sort of…stopped. Mostly. This was one of the times he found himself telling the truth – Pep would be shocked.

“We need to get to my lab,” he insisted, and then it hit him, and Tony could have smacked himself. "The _hat._ " They awkwardly maneuvered to get the hood out of Tony's grip across Steve's shoulders. "Bruce mentioned it could be an artefact from the Sanctum, which is just our fucking luck, but if this thing is how she was able to do all of this..." 

Steve’s eyes narrowed in the way that told Tony he was putting the pieces together, too, and forming a plan of attack. “You were whammied when you took it from her?”

Tony grunted, unwilling to admit it without testing.

Steve looked down at their hands, still clasped together. “Tony, why did you want me to hold your hand?”

Blessedly, and Tony had never felt blessed by SHIELD in his life before this moment, he was saved from that question by the conspicuous black van that screeched to a halt, pouring out a team of agents and a stretcher.

The blessed feeling was immediately replaced by the usual annoyance. “Oh hell no, I’m not getting on that.”

“Mr. Stark, it would help us—”

“I’ll cut you off there, kid. I need a sedative, and something to sterilize the wound on my head.”

“Sir, if you’ve got a concussion, I wouldn’t—”

“And that’s why they pay me the big science bucks and you only left the intern pool last week.”

“Stark, keep harassing my agents and I’ll ensure Ms. Potts gets the full file for your reports by the end of the day,” Maria Hill said stiffly. Fuck his whole life.

Hill slammed the passenger side door on her way over to Tony and Steve, nodding respectfully to Steve, and then crossing her arms to glare at Tony.

“Before you start yelling, let me say that I am in full control of my faculties. My mind is perfectly functional.”

Her left brow rose slowly. “Uh huh. You were out ten minutes, Stark. Care to explain?”

“First of all—”

“Magic,” Steve cut in. “It’s something to do with contact that the hat brought on when he took it. We don’t know what’s going on, but he was pale and shaking when I found him, and the symptoms so far have always happened when he loses skin-to-skin contact.”

Tony rolled his eyes and ripped his hand out of Steve’s grip. “I’m _fine_ ,” he drolled, even as that wave of nausea came right back, draining him like water through a sieve. His hand hurt now, the aching in his skin traveling up his arm just as the sense of relief had when they touched.

Hill looking alarmed was never a good sign, as a general rule. So when her eyes went wide and she started barking orders Tony didn’t pay attention to, he figured he looked a bit like shit.

Steve quickly grabbed him again, supporting him and pulling him closer to get a better grip around his waist. Tony was just able to hold back a hysterical laugh, because holy shit. Steve finally seemed eager to get his hands on him, and it was when Tony might actually be dying. That was probably karmic justice, or maybe just outright punishment at this point.

“JARVIS, direct Bruce to SHIELD Medical. Make sure he’s there to be my knight in shining armour.”

The last thing Tony remembered was a needle going into a vein in his exposed forearm, and Steve squeezing his hand gently as he promptly lost consciousness.

\----

Waking up in SHIELD medical is high on Tony’s list of Things to Never Let Happen.

Tony, in all his self-important glory, was half disappointed to find Steve nowhere to be seen in the little room filled with empty beds and medical equipment and…Bruce!

Bruce noticed Tony wake, and quickly came to rest his hand over Tony’s elbow without needing to be asked. The instant relief that fell over Tony was fucking awful, because it meant he wasn’t miraculously cured. “Tell me the good news, doc,” Tony rasped.

Bruce grinned, and handed him a tiny plastic cup of water. “Need me to feed you, too?”

“Fuck off,” Tony grumbled, and Bruce just smiled. “Seriously,” Tony said after chugging the water down. “What have you figured out, and how many agents are outside waiting to lock me up?”

Bruce pulled a twisted little frown, like he thought Tony had any intention of listening when Bruce told him it would be better if he stayed put. Which he did say, and Tony did not listen. Bruce sighed, and reached for a tablet. “They’ve got the hat, and they’re working on tracking down Strange because they haven't been able to get it to show any sign of magic ability. The problem is he's being aloof again, and he hates SHIELD, so that hasn’t helped.”

Tony pulled a face, and Bruce tapped his elbow, reminding him that this is exactly the kind of thing Strange is useful for. Didn’t mean Tony had to _appreciate_ the guy. “How long has it been since the battle?”

“We got you back here around two hours ago, but kept you under while I made sure none of the highly trained medical staff ruined your hair,” Bruce finished dryly.

Tony reached up to pat his face. “That’s why you’re my favorite.”

Bruce snorted. “Your actual favorite is in the process of wearing a hole through the carpet back home.”

Tony sniffed. “No idea what you mean.” Bruce didn’t know explicitly, as in Tony hadn’t literally admitted his ‘problem’ in any exact words, but he knew enough. “I am getting out of here, though.” He made grabby hands toward the tray that held his watch, and Bruce dutifully rolled his eyes and sighed before he got it for him. “Wonderful. JARVIS?”

“Yes, sir, welcome back.”

“Thank you, J. I want a full diagnostic scan ready for when I get back, put DUMMY on Steve watch, and make sure he doesn’t know when I’m arriving.” He clicked the small button on the side without catching Bruce's notice. 

“We’re avoiding him, again? Tony, he’s not upset with you. Much. Actually, now that we’re on the topic, _I_ could yell at you about how stupid that move was, if you want.”

Tony pouted, turning wide eyes to look up at Bruce. “You wouldn’t verbally assault a patient. What happened to Do No Harm?”

Bruce waited him out in silence. He was good at that, the bastard.

“I’ll buy you a new beaker set.”

Bruce sighed. “You could give me a warning next time, you know. The Hulk is much better at delaying the effects of magic than your filtration system. Speaking of, we should work on that one too, run a simulation with the new data from your suit and see if we can't find a work around.”

Tony grinned. “This is why I adore you, Brucie Bear. We're on the same wavelength.”

“And here I thought it was my ability to forgive and forget.”

“That too! Meet you in the lab?” It took all of Tony’s strength (and maybe the leftover codeine in his veins) to keep up the loose grin when he stood and brushed past Bruce, breaking contact. The effect wasn’t as immediate this time, but Tony could feel the slow drain starting in his muscles.

“You aren’t taking the suit, are you?” Bruce asked, frowning at him disapprovingly.

“No, what gave you that idea?”

Tony slid open the window halfway, enough for the compact suit to fly through, right on time. The metal formed around him like butter, less for protection than propulsion, but all he needed was a few blocks of flight. When he winked at Bruce right before the visor slid over his face, he caught Bruce grinning.

\----

There were fewer smiles waiting for him when he got back. He had about an hour of sliding around his lab in a wheeled stool, moving back and forth between sets of data (some files cleanly swiped from SHIELD) and his footage, before the draining pain became too much and he nearly nose-dived into the floor.

He should call Bruce. Get him to bring up something numbing. That seemed to work last time, even if it resulted in him losing consciousness.

But then there was Steve.

Bad idea to go there, obviously.

But Steve.

He wound up walking into the kitchen, one hand on the wall to keep him from toppling to the ground in a sad heap, and tried for the suave approach. “Hey there, Cap. How goes the search for the witch?”

Steve spun around on his heel, dropping his bagel on the counter before all but running over to Tony. “When did you get back? God, Tony, you look like hell.”

“What a charmer,” Tony teased, or tried to tease, but it ending up sounding like a benediction because the moment Steve got to him, he snuck an arm under Tony’s shoulder to support him, and the minuscule contact of Steve’s arm against his, t-shirts rucked up in the movement, was heavenly.

And Steve noticed, because of course he did. “The effects are still that strong?”

“Worse since the codeine wore off, but here we are,” Tony grumbled. The solid warmth of Steve against him was reassuring as it always was, but the urge to touch, to feel, was nearly overpowering. This was so much worse. When Steve guided him over to the couch and sat beside him, Tony was practically pliant in his hands. Which was enough to set a deeper frown in Steve’s face to match the one on Tony’s because Tony had never been this easy with Steve in his life.

Purposefully, because letting Steve have his way with him – _terrible wording, what the fuck are you thinking, Stark?_ – ran the risk of feeling too good to forget. Like it was doing right now. Fuck.

“Tony, you need to go back to medical.”

Tony swatted at Steve’s ridiculously firm pecs. “Trained monkeys, Steve. It’s better here.” _With you._ “I can get more work done here in the time it takes them to tie their shoes.”

Steve’s eyebrow ticked up, and god, it wasn’t fair. He must have mistaken Tony’s expression for physical pain, because he took Tony’s hand in his. There was the safety of his suit, a creation brought about by his own hands, and then there was this. This feeling of…oh, fuck it. Tony was a sucker for genuine, protective affection – look at Rhodey, Happy, Pepper, even that bastard Obie, who’d only been pretending – he ate that shit up. So Steve being so… _Steve,_ right now?

Doomed. Tony was doomed.

“Did you hear me, Tony?”

“Uh. Depends. Were you talking about the chemical formula for codeine, and possible elements that could be counteracting something in the hat?”

Steve sighed, but he smiled when he did it. “No. I was saying you look like you could use a nap. And also reminding you that I have a rant built up about that stunt you pulled.”

Tony stiffened. Technically, yes, sleep sounded like a blessing. But practically, lying alone in a room sounded like hell. “I actually took a few naps today, and I’m flying high. I’m fit as a fiddle, or whatever saying from the good ol’ days fits in there.”

Steve knew him too damn well, Tony had figured that out the hard way after one too many nights of take out brought into his lab, shared on the couch that Tony had all but monogramed with Steve’s name. And yet Steve never ceased to surprise him, so maybe he should have figured out that coming to Steve all pitiful and needy would make him sling an arm around Tony where they say on the couch, pushing him to lean more firmly against Steve.

Except Tony’s head was in the _cook of Steve’s neck_ and Tony had a wealth of fantasies that started out exactly like this, which screamed RED FLAG, DANGER, GET OUT.

But it felt so _good_.

Safe.

He blinked, only resting dry eyes for a second, tops.

When he came to, not remembering how or where he fell asleep, he was overcome with a sense of joy in his bones he hadn’t felt in decades. Not since Mom, since he realized Rhodey wasn’t kidding when he said he was sticking around. But better in a way he wasn't used to.

There was warm skin pressed against his cheek, and ah. That made sense. Sex. Huh. He didn’t even remember pulling or having sex that could leave him feeling so bonelessly content, but beggars couldn’t be choosers, especially when he was reaping the benefits anyway. He turned his head, and it smelt like Steve’s old man shampoo mixed with the detergent that asshole still bought for himself, despite Tony having a full fucking laundry service. That was when Tony knew he had to still be dreaming. What were the odds of waking up like this, with him? So, he pressed his lips to that neck, parted them, kissed Steve's skin, and felt the body sigh under him, shaking with the breath.

Tony grinned, no, smiled. Without hesitation, he slid up the firm body of muscle and opened his eyes long enough to see Steve’s painfully beautiful face before he kissed him for real. Parting his lips and—

Steve wasn’t moving.

At all.

Tony opened his eyes, and was immediately met with a blurry set of wide eyes looking back. Tony pulled back in time to catch the utter shock written on Steve’s face and then it finally, devastatingly clicked. Not a dream.

Tony flung himself back like he’d been burned, scrambling across the couch and then rolling over the armrest into a stumbling run toward the hallway and into the elevator before Steve could get out so much as a syllable. His heart hammered in his chest, and the tired ache that pulled energy from his chest was already building, but the only thing Tony could think of was getting out.

“Garage, J. Fast as possible. Lock the elevators from anyone following.”

“Sir, Captain Rogers is—”

“Block all incoming calls," Tony ordered. " _E_ _specially_ from him, and ditch my trace. Then get me Stephen Strange on the line.”

\----

CLINT'S APARTMENT 

Clint’s mouth hung open, and Tony held out his hand. “Will that fifty be in the form of check or cash?” he drolled.

“Shit,” Clint said eloquently.

“Yeah.”

“No, really, Tony. _Shit._ ”

“What did I tell you?”

“Wait, no,” Clint said, swatting Tony’s hand down. “Hold on, it’s not a done deal just yet.”

Tony tilted over on one elbow to give Clint an _are you kidding me?_ look. “Did you miss the part with the kissing and the brick wall impression I got for it? Or the _kissing his neck_ situation? All factors go against that assessment, Katniss.”

“I also caught the part where you ran out before he could react.”

Tony laughed a little too loud. “As if I’m masochistic enough to wait around for Steve’s _response._ Yeah, no thank you. I don’t need the sad puppy eyes and the gentle, sympathetic let down.”

Clint bit his tongue to keep from stating the obvious: Steve had been gone for Tony for months.

What was the bro code for this one? Tony was his bro, so he should give Tony a heads up that it was way more likely that Steve wouldn’t have been opposed to a little mouth on mouth action under better circumstances. But Steve was his bro, too. Kind of. They were on the way to being bros, maybe? Whatever. Steve was his friend, and also the team's leader. Co-team leader. Along with Tony. God, this was complicated. Suddenly, the ex-handler, recently resurrected via alien blood situation seemed so much easier.  

The point was that he couldn’t just out Steve’s really fucking obvious crush, no matter how really fucking obvious it was.

“I get why you came all the way here. Even if it was stupid.”

“Hey, asshole, you should be flattered. Isn’t that what people feel when a friend comes to them in a time of need?”

“Sure, but you do realize that he knows where I live, right?”

Tony paused. “He wouldn’t come without prior notice. Steve has manners. Annoying, old fashioned manners”

Clint tilted his head in acknowledgement. “You know what, you’re right. Steve really is known for his restraint when it comes to helping people he considers his friends when they’re in distress. He really takes his time to develop a well thought out, peer-reviewed action plan.”

Tony’s eyes went so wide it would have been funny if it wasn’t also kinda sad. “Fuck,” he muttered.

“Yeah.” 

“Hide me.”

Clint didn’t have time to come up with an appropriately sarcastic response to that, because he was cut off by the tell-tale roar of a motorcycle skidding to a rough stop outside.

If it was possible, Tony paled even more. “No, no, no, no,” he mumbled frantically, standing and pacing around the living room. “Clint, I will build you new arrows every week for the next year. I’ll build you a whole damn arsenal, just stall him for me.”

“Until what? Where are you going to go? Out the window? This is Cap, he’ll be expecting that.”

Tony leaned against the bathroom doorway, shaking his head in thought. “Nat is out of the country, so that means he’s either got Thor, Bruce, or Sam out there guarding the perimeter to block me off. I can take them.”

“You can take Thor, really?” Clint asked dryly.

“All I have to do is bribe him with PopTarts and call him my brother-in-arms. He’s an easy sell.”

“This is ridiculous, Tony, just talk—” Clint was interrupted again, this time by the sound of a fist pounding on his front door.

“Shit. No time, Clint, please,” Tony begged.

Clint thought this was a terrible idea, and he wanted that in writing for future reference. But Tony was asking for help, and he never did that lightly. Damn. “Okay, fine, get into the bathroom. You have maybe two minutes, but we both know I won’t last long if he tries to muscle past me.”

Tony kissed his fingers in a quick salute at Clint before he took off. Why was this Clint’s life?

He rushed over to the door, swinging it open in the very picture of casual, leaning on the door frame and purposefully using his body to block easy entry. “Sup, Steve?" he greeted, grinning like this was a surprise. "What brings you this side of the dumpster?”

Steve looked winded, which was unusual in and of itself, but he was also frantically looking over Clint’s shoulder into the apartment even as he pursed his lips disapprovingly. “This isn’t a dumpster, Clint, there’s good people here and you’re one of them. Is Tony here?”

“Nope. You wanna come in for a coffee? You’re looking a little strung out, man. Everything okay?” It very clearly was not okay. The poor guy looked wrecked with worry and just about as eager to get in as Tony was to climb down the fire escape.

“Yes, thanks,” Steve said distractedly, not quite waiting for Clint to get out of the way before he pushed into the apartment.  “You haven’t heard from him, have you?”

“Can’t say I have, is something up? You guys tied up the baddie with the magic hat pretty quick, didn’t you?”

“Yes, we did, but Tony got hit at the end and…you sure he hasn’t come by? Left you a message?” Steve was walking the perimeter, and then he stopped dead, staring down at the couch. “Clint.”

Uh-oh. That was the Stern Voice of Disapproval. Clint leaned over to see what he was looking at, but Steve took off toward the bathroom the instant Clint got a look at Tony’s glasses, wedged in between the couch cushions. “Wait, Steve, hold up, don’t go in there.” Clint tried to slow him down, speaking as loudly as possible to give Tony as least a heads up, becasue there was only one way this was going down. “Just wait a sec.”

“Clint, not now,” Steve said, shrugging Clint off and throwing open the door before Clint could remind him not to break the door handle. Well, too late for that. He ran a hand over his face and sighed, looking over Steve’s shoulder to see Tony with one leg out the window.

“Steve! Fancy meeting you here,” Tony said lightly, smug look on his face like he wasn’t half way out a bathroom window, three floors up, wearing Armani. “I was just about to leave. Don’t let me interrupt your coffee date.”

Tony was inching his way outside as he spoke. He was really still doing that.

“Oookay,” Clint said, desperately wanting to be anywhere but right there, watching Tony’s train wreck. “I’m gonna leave you guys to deal with whatever this is. Seriously though, deal with it. Use words. There’s coffee in the pot. I’m gonna…go. Yeah.”

It was safe to say he got out of there as quick as humanly possible, snagging a hoodie from the floor and rushing out the door before he could hear anything more than Steve pleading; “Tony, let me explain, please? And get out of the window.”

It turned out it was Sam who was leaning against a lamppost, playing a game on his phone. He looked up at Clint with a relieved sigh. “Please tell me you locked them up. I don’t think I can deal with any more pining after spending my evening chasing those idiots across the whole damn island.”

Clint smirked. “How’d Steve rope you into Tony Watch?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “How does Steve rope anyone into anything? All he had to do was look at me with those sad, sorry blue eyes, all earnest. Damn. When did we all become suckers in their romantic comedy?”

“When we decided to join the Initiative, probably.”

Sam chuckled. “At least it’s over, right?”

Clint just walked away laughing. He had a horrible feeling that this was never going to be over. At least with Tony in good hands, he could get back to his plans for the night.

Phil picked up before the second ring, and Clint tried not to read too far into that, but he felt a _little_ smug. “Clint?”

“Hey there, boss man. How’s Canada?”

“Classified.” Clint knew that very few people would have been able to hear the implied smile in Phil’s monotone, and it only made him grin wider.

“You’ll never guess what I did today.”

“Harbored a fugitive?”

Clint paused, his mouth hanging open. “Okay. No way. I’m calling bullshit, Phil, there’s no way you already heard!”

“Wait, you’re serious? Clint, we’ve had this discussion—”

“Calm down, it was Tony,” Clint placated, grinning. They’d actually had that discussion three times by this point, and Phil had only been justified in one of them - the feral cat was a bad idea.

“Oh. I wish that was more of a surprise, honestly.”

“So do I. Now he and Cap are locked in my apartment, having a _feelings_ talk. I expect appropriate compensation from Fury for helping to end all of our misery, by the way.”

Phil was quiet for a moment. “I’m still trying to process Captain America and Tony Stark together, and nope. No, it’s not working. I hope you know this means I can’t ever sleep in your bed again.”

“They won’t have sex,” Clint argued, and then thought about it and made a face as he considered who it was he was talking about. “God damnit, I’m gonna have to bleach the place, aren’t I?”

“Bleach won’t keep the imagery away.”

Clint did imagine it, and it wasn’t _that_ terrible, but it was also _Tony_ and _Steve_ – gross. “You’re right. I’ll have to burn the place to the ground. I’ve got no other option, with the things I've head from Tony about his sex life." Clint shuddered. "Maybe I’ll camp out at Kate’s until she gets sick of me. So, you know, that gives me two days of shelter tops.”

“Or you could move in with me, and stay as long as you want.”

Clint laughed, assuming it was a joke, because what the hell else was he expected to believe, he was Clint Barton and Phil was _Phil_. Even though they had a good thing going (really good thing, the best thing Clint’s ever had), it was never expected that it was a forever thing. Not a serious, long term commitment thing. Clint wasn’t the type people got serious over, not for real. But then Phil was silent on the other end of the line for a beat too long, and Clint could have sword he heard him clear his throat uncomfortably.

Phil never showed signs of discomfort at work. It was one of his rules.  

“Oh, shit. You’re not joking.”

“No.”

Clint felt his brain short out, trying to process that. “You…you’d want that? Having me around? All the time?”

“I’ve wanted that for a while, Clint,” Phil told him. He said it patiently, gently. He spoke the way Phil only did when he wanted Clint to feel comfortable and believe him. The way he only ever spoke when he was telling the truth. “For a lot longer than a while, if I’m being painfully honest.”

“Why now?” Clint asked in a small voice. He should win a prize for keeping a lid on the screaming going on inside his head.

He thought it might have been too quiet for the phone to pick up, though, until Phil answered, “You sounded…wistful when you talked about them. I thought that, maybe, you’d be happy if we took the next step, too. And because I want to live with you. I…”

Clint took pity on him, knowing how awkward Phil felt talking about feelings over the phone. “Okay.”

“Okay?” 

Clint’s whole face hurt from smiling. “I wanna to live with you, too. Yes.”

“Good.” Phil was definitely smiling, now. Clint wanted him so much it hurt, but this time it was a good one. The best Clint had never known before finding his place in SHIELD. Before Phil found him.

Clint laughed, part relieved and part scared out of his fucking mind about screwing it up with the best man he'd ever known, but he was so damn happy he knew he probably looked psychotic. “Hell yes, it is. When do you get home?”

Phil made an unhappy sound. “I don’t think I’m prepared to handle hearing you call our place home when I’m not there to kiss you for it.”

“Home, home, home,” Clint teased, lowering his voice the way he knew drove Phil crazy, even as his brain got stuck on Phil’s use of the word ‘our’ like a broken record. _Our, our, our_. He reveled in the way Phil jokingly groaned back at him. “So, when are you gonna join me at home, Phil?”

“You’re a monster,” Phil accused, but Clint could hear the emotion in his voice that bellied any insult. “I’ve been on my way for the past two hours, actually.”

Clint stopped dead in the middle of the sidewalk, the person behind him slamming right into his shoulder with an aggravated noise of complaint, but Clint didn’t care in the slightest. “What, really? I thought you were still a few days out before you wrapped up the very classified bag and tag mission in Quebec?”

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t just imply that you broke protocol and went digging where you shouldn’t have,” Phil said dryly. Clint sorted, letting that serve as his answer to what he thought about _that_ double standard – as if Phil hadn’t checked up on Avengers business every time Clint was in the field. Clint knew these things. Or rather, he’d bribed Tony to find out when Phil was accessing his reports. Same thing. “I can finish my report from home, in any case,” Phil continued. “I was planning to surprise you early in the morning and bring you those donuts you like from uptown.”

“Ugh, Phil, no fair talking dirty to me over the phone when you’re still hundreds of miles away.”

Phil hummed. “I thought that was one of your birthday requests?”

Clint’s eyebrows skyrocketed. Sure, he’d said that when Phil asked what he wanted next month, but Clint had been mostly talking out of his ass at the time. Birthdays were never much of a thing for him, so he hadn’t expected to be taken _seriously_. “Yes, absolutely, don’t listen to me. I’m still running on cloud nine from you asking me to move in – you can’t trust a word out of my mouth right now.”

He heard Phil make a frustrated sound and pull the phone away from his mouth, then he was back with, “Soon,” in a voice that promised so much more.

Clint closed his eyes, and wondered for the millionth time since meeting Phil what the hell he ever did to get to have this. “Don’t keep me waiting, I might start without you.”

“ _Menace._ ”

\----

“Tony, let me explain, please. And get out of the window.”

For the record, Tony wanted nothing more than to throw himself the rest of the way out, fragile bones be damned.

“It’s a little rude taking up space in a guy’s house when he’s not even here, so it’s probably better if I just get on out.” He eased away from the window, having to hop on one leg as he got his other leg back on the ground and hating himself more for looking like a moron.

He couldn’t look Steve in the eye, but it turned out that looking at his bicep wasn’t any better, nor his chest, his shoulders, his _hands_. Christ Almighty. Tony settled for the crease in between Steve’s eyebrows. It was the only space more annoying than attractive, because Tony still wanted to wipe it away.

“Tony, look at me.” Steve sounded pained. Tony tried not to wince, even as he dropped his eyes back down to Steve’s. Maybe if he was better at ignoring the man, his life would be less complicated, but he wasn’t. Especially when Steve sounded like Tony had torn up all his favorite sketchbooks. (The one with the red cover that he kept private, and the little black Moleskin Tony had given him after he’d gotten back from his motorcycle ride across the country. Maybe it also would have been easier if he didn’t know those things in the first place.)

“Okay. Looking.”

Steve was honest to god pouting. Lower lip jutting out and everything, and it didn’t even look like he was doing it to be an ass. Tony was the only asshole here, that much was painfully obvious. “You ran out,” Steve said.

“Yeah, I did do that. I…should have said something,” Tony admitted stiffly, putting his arms behind his back, standing up straight and pretending there wasn’t a full-body ache just to keep from reaching out for contact. “Something like an apology. I’m sorry. For…the _thing_. That was inappropriate and unwarranted, and I should have stayed in the med-bay like the lab coats wanted me to, I know.”

Steve shook his head. “That’s not what I was going for, Tony. You don’t have to apologize to me for any of that.”

Tony wanted to cry and punch something, and scream at the top of his fucking lungs, but instead he just got angry. Anger was easier. Arguing was the norm for them, wasn’t it? The safe choice.

“Don’t give me that crap, Cap. Spare me the woeful understanding. I took advantage of the situation—”

“Why do you have make this all about you?” Steve argued, raising his voice and throwing a hand in the air.

Tony raised a brow. “Because it literally _is_ all about me? Did you miss the part with the magic and the desperate need for physical contact? I sure didn’t.”

“Of course I didn’t miss it, Tony, that’s the whole point!”

“Then you agree, it’s all about me?” Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew he was being an ass, but he’d spent the past forty-odd years ignoring that voice and he was damn good at it.

“No!” Steve exclaimed, exhaling loudly and letting his arms fall heavy against his sides. Tony didn’t have the energy to dodge Steve’s approach when it happened, and the _want_ was strong enough it drained him even more to think about putting up a fight.

He would deny that he whimpered when Steve wrapped him in a crushing embrace until the day he died, but it was a possibility.

Tony sagged into Steve, feeling the instant relief flow through him. If he was more honest with himself, it wasn’t just the magic-related relief he felt.

“It’s okay, Tony,” Steve said, mouth half pressed into Tony’s hair.

How many times was Steve going to say his name, like the sound of it coming out of Steve’s mouth didn’t make Tony want to stay there forever. Or cry.

“What alternate reality are you from where any of this is okay? I want to know so I can blacklist it for future reference.” Tony let his head fall onto Steve’s shoulder. He smelt like sweat and leather, and that smell that Tony’s brain only knew as _Steve_.

Steve chuckled, the rumbling sound vibrating against Tony. This was one of those moments he would hate himself for later, because he wouldn’t be able to forget it without alcohol, and he wasn’t going back to that.

“Do the forty’s count?”

“Considering I could be jailed for that gay display back then, I’m going to say no,” Tony answered dryly.

Steve went completely still, back frozen stiff under Tony’s hands, and Tony cursed himself to hell and back because he was supposed to be reassuring Steve that Tony wasn’t going to sexually assault him, not mentioning the word _gay_ while having his arms wrapped around the guy.

But Steve tightened his arms around Tony instead of backing away and running out the door.

“I came here to apologize,” Steve said firmly, almost like he had convinced himself this was something he needed to do, and suddenly Tony was so sick of it all. He wasn’t a mission. He wasn’t something Steve had to _grin and bear_ , or buckle down and _do the right thing_. Fuck all of that.

“Don’t bother,” Tony forced out. It took all he had to lean back, and just that small loss of touch felt like ripping off a limb. _Fuck_ magic. “I don’t want some forced apology because you feel guilty. You have nothing to feel guilty over.”

Steve didn’t force him to stay in the hug, even though he could have, but he did reach out to take Tony’s hands. Tony could have kissed him for it, but _fool me once_ , and all that crap. He was fairly intelligent, he wouldn’t make the same mistake twice within the span of a few hours. “Why do you keep pulling away if touch takes the pain away?” Steve asked, frowning down at their joined hands.

Tony rolled his eyes and scoffed. “Are we back to the stupid questions?”

“Tony.”

“ _Steve._ ” He tried to brush Steve off again, but then he made the mistake of looking Steve in the eyes, and Steve looked desperate. Begging without words, even though Tony knew how much he hated having to beg, and had done it already just trying to get Tony to talk. “You’re uncomfortable. I’ll live.”

“I already talked with Steven Strange,” Steve said simply, calling Tony on his bullshit. "You literally will not if you keep being stubborn about it."

“Okay, fine, yes, contact is preferable to a pain, coma, and a slow death, but regardless.”

Steve nodded stiffly, biting down on his lip had enough to turn the skin white. “That’s why you came to Clint’s.”

Tony felt like he was missing something, but he answered honestly. “Yeah. I knew he wouldn’t mind. And the dog helped some, before he got back. Not the same as with people, or whatever, but workable. I was planning on kidnapping the thing for a few days, actually. He’s an easy sell, just feed him pizza and—”

“You feel more comfortable with Clint?” Steve asked abruptly, interrupting Tony’s stream of consciousness.

Tony blinked. “Uh. More so than…?”

“Me. More so than with me.”

Tony opened his mouth, and then it just sort of hung there because – what? Steve must have been hit with magic gas too, because _what_?

“I’m the one that made _you_ uncomfortable, remember? What kind of a question is that – do I prefer Clint over you? What the hell, Steve?”

“I—”

“I’m holding hands with you in a bathroom that may as well be a linen closet – I mean come on, this is less than five square feet of space, who lives like this with Hawkeye’s paycheck? – and there’s a perfectly amiable dog outside that could help with the pain, but I’m here with you because you asked me to stay. I kissed you, ruining our friendship and making you freeze up like I’d kicked you in the balls, and yet I’m here with you anyway. You have free access to my lab. To everywhere in the Tower, but you probably didn’t know that.”

“I did,” Steve said, looking a little dazed. “I asked JARVIS where I wasn’t allowed to go, so I’d know for future reference, and he told me I had overrides for everything.”

Tony shifted his weight. “Yeah. Well. No one else has that. Not even Pep. And definitely not Clint, can you imagine? Coming to Bed-Stuy wasn’t my first choice.”

“What was?” Steve asked softly.

Tony wished he could look away, but he couldn’t he couldn’t seem make himself move, and he was pretty sure it wasn't anything to do with the hat. “You know.”

“Me? In the Tower, you weren’t just avoiding the doctors?”

“Well, that too. But there’s was no one else in the kitchen, Steve. I wasn’t coming to hug the coffee machine.”

“You have before, so you can see where I made the mistake.”

Tony huffed out a laugh. “Fair point.” He cleared his throat. “I am genuinely sorry about that, though. Making you uncomfortable was never—”

“You didn’t.”

“You…what?” Tony felt his brain short-circuit.

Steve took the last step forward to close the space between them, running his hands up Tony’s arms, over his shoulders, and back down to hold both hands again. “Is this okay?”

 _Is this okay_ – it only made Tony feel like he could breathe again, so yeah, maybe it was _okay_. He’d also dreamt of this more times than he’d ever admit on pain of death, but whatever.

“Finish that first thought, would you?” Tony insisted, avoiding the question. “I think that’s the most pressing issue here.”

Steve’s smile was soft, and his eyes…his eyes were gentle, too. The way he was looking at Tony wasn’t normal. It didn’t compute. He tried to remind himself that Steve cared about everyone on the team. That Steve cared about random people in line at the supermarket. This was just more of that. Tony tried to focus on those facts, even as his good-for-nothing heart beat faster and faster.

“I was surprised, and not uncomfortable in the way you’re thinking. I mean, I _was_ uncomfortable, but because I was terrified it was all just the magic. Because your body was demanding contact. It made me feel sick to think that I could have taken advantage of your situation, Tony. I don’t want to do that. It’s wrong.”

Tony had trouble finding words – any words at all, for the first time in his life – to respond with. “We were both worried about taking advantage?”

“Sounds like it,” Steve said softly.

“Huh.” One thing was certain: Clint could _never_ know.

“My thoughts exactly.”

“And you came after me to…?”

“Apologize, mostly, and see if you were okay. And to chew you out for running without giving me a chance to say something.”

“Because you thought I wouldn’t want it in another circumstance.”

“That’s still a concern, if I’m honest.”

Even if he couldn’t see the uncertainty written all over Steve’s face, he would have been able to hear it in his voice.

Screw it.

Tony took a steadying breath (which did absolutely nothing for his nerves), and reached up to cup the side of Steve’s face with his hand. The smooth, even skin and the defined line of his jaw felt more familiar than it had any right to. Tony was struck with the realization that this was all really happening. “Magic or no magic, kissing you is not some brand-new idea for me, Steve.”

Steve’s hands dropped to hold Tony’s waist, and he wasn’t sure whether the thrill that ran down his spine at the touch was because of the magic, or because he’d been imagining Steve’s hands on him for too long to not be vaguely embarrassing.

“You’ve never been one to shy away from a crush, Tony,” Steve said, bashful now. “Can’t blame a guy for taking that as a sign you wouldn’t be…interested.”

Tony laughed. “Two things: _crush_? really?”

“What’s the second thing,” Steve said dryly, but he was moving his thumbs in little circles, rucking up Tony’s shirt enough to brush against his skin. It wasn’t dirty though – as much as that would have been _okay_ , too – it was sweet. _God, is this what it’s like?_

Tony ran his own thumb across Steve’s cheekbone, and reveled in watching the way his eyes fluttered shut, and hearing the small intake of breath. He moved his other hand to rest against Steve’s chest, and had to just look at that for a moment, because part of his brain was still stuck on the fact this was okay.

“You’re different, Steve,” he managed to say, finally. He cleared his throat in vain, and the annoying little lump trying to ruin his smooth-talking persona was making it harder to sound unaffected. He was still holding Steve’s face though, and had no plans on letting go, so maybe that one was a lost cause from the start.

Steve tilted his head in acknowledgement. “I’m well aware of that one, actually.”

Tony rolled his eyes and dropped the hand holding Steve’s face to mock-push at his hip. “No, don’t be an idiot.”

“I’m different and an idiot? This is a really great talk we’re having.” But Steve had laughter in his voice when he said it, and his eyes were bright, locking onto Tony’s he moment he looked.

“You’re not different because you’re a man out of time, or Captain America. Though the super soldier thing is a plus, believe me.” He let Steve swat at his arm, only because Steve then covered the hand Tony had on Steve’s chest with his. “You’re kind – not nice. You’re actually more of an asshole than I ever imagined, and you live for deadpan humor more than anyone I’ve ever met. You care, and it’s not just a front. You don’t do what you do because it makes you feel good, you do it because it’s right, and somebody has to do it, and that someone may as well be you. You fight and live and love with everything you have, and maybe that’s because you don’t know any other way of living, but I grew up around some real shitty people who lived in the forties, so I think it’s just who you are. That makes you stubborn, argumentative, and self-righteous, and sometimes it makes me want to knock your block off, but it also makes you Steve.

"The Steve that has access to anything and everything in the Tower because you make me want to stop hiding. The Steve that thinks I don’t know he draws me when I’m working, and was awed when I gave him a Moleskin, like it was an all-expenses paid trip to the Bahamas. The Steve that came back for more when the world went to hell, and made a team out of a bunch of loner assholes who don’t work well with others. Who made us a family by sheer force of will.”

“You were part of that, Tony. You always were. Having you by my side…it means a lot.”

Tony laughed, knocking their foreheads together.

“What’s so funny about that,” Steve asked, smile in his voice.

“I was climbing out the window a few minutes ago, and now I’m admitting that I’m in love with you in Clint’s shitty bathroom.”

They were close enough that Tony heard Steve stop breathing which, uh. Was a concern

Tony pulled back to access the situation and exactly how fast he should be running, but the moment he did, Steve grabbed him with both hands framing his jaw, pulling him in and kissing Tony at the most awkward angle possible.

“No, no,” Tony muttered, taking over and maneuvering them into the _correct_ position, and _there._ The little sigh that left Steve’s lips made everything worth it. He’d dive bomb a thousand tree-happy witches for a sigh like that.

Let no one say Steve Rogers is a slow learner, because the second he took control again, pushing Tony back against the sink, parting Tony’s lips like he’d been doing it for years, Tony felt his legs lose all functioning. Which meant he had to wrap his arms around Steve’s neck, for stability’s sake. And Steve apparently liked that very much, as he leaned Tony’s head back, kissing him deep and through, making him moan when he pulled back just to press a warm kiss to Tony’s jaw.

“I’m in love with you, too,” he whispered against Tony’s skin.

Tony pushed him back enough to get a read on his face, and oh god. The sight of Steve with kissed-red lips, face flushed, eyes bright and looking at Tony like…like the way Tony knows he’s looking at Steve. “I’m gonna need you to say that again. For the record.”

Steve chuckled, dipping his chin as if he was embarrassed, which should not be hot. Should not be a turn on. But was. He looked back up at Tony with a smile on his face, wide and toothy and so happy it hurts Tony’s heart to see. A good hurt, though. This one is a good hurt.

“I love you, Shellhead.”

“Back at you, Winghead.”

“Oh come on, Tony, say the words.”

“No can do. I’ve got quotas for that. Call back in five to ten weeks and I’ll see if I have an opening.”

“I can’t believe you.” But Steve was smiling, leaning in to knock his nose against Tony’s, and Tony had completely forgotten how good physical affection could feel before this.

“Feel free to shut me up, anytime.”

Steve took him up on that offer, with enthusiasm.

Tony made a note to steal the hat back from Strange and frame it on the mantle.

**Author's Note:**

> Strange fixed Tony literally right after. It wasn't hard, but he had things to do and being a dick to Tony is part of life's simple pleasures. There was an exposition-y part about what the magic was actually doing to Tony, but I was really just in this for the ship, so it got cut. 
> 
> (if you catch a mistake feel free to hit me up here or on tumblr: https://meganmazing.tumblr.com/)


End file.
